


Härskarinna

by Ivartheboneme



Series: Ivar [10]
Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: A little bit of bad BDSM etiquette, BDSM, Bondage, Choking, F/M, Face Slapping, Masturbation, Sensation Play, arm restraints, spanking with a belt, sub!Ivar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-08
Updated: 2017-06-08
Packaged: 2018-11-11 07:28:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11143713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ivartheboneme/pseuds/Ivartheboneme
Summary: Please note that for all of my works that have sexual content, all relevant characters are at least 18 years old. If they are not yet 18 in canon, I age them up.





	Härskarinna

**Author's Note:**

  * For [livebynight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/livebynight/gifts), [ivartheheathen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivartheheathen/gifts).



The game had started by the fire in the great hall. Sigurd had already gone off to bed and Hvitserk was in a corner with some girl, feeling his way under her skirt. The doors to the great hall opened and Ubbe brought both a cold wind and quite a bit of snow with him as he entered; Ivar immediately pulled you closer to keep the chill at bay. Ubbe sat down at the other side of the fire and reached his hands out to warm them over the flames. He glanced over the tight embrace that you and his brother were sharing and cleared his throat.

“There seems to be a storm on the way. Perhaps it is best that you stay here tonight, y/n, the cabin is quite a bit away.” Ivar hadn't given you a chance to answer yourself.

“Of course she's going to stay. I'm not letting my woman outside in this weather.” Ivar had been acting even more possessive than usual the entire evening, snarling at anyone who came too close; this was the last straw.

“Letting me?” You echo in disbelief “Is that how a good pet speaks to his härskarinna?” At first he tensed but when he returned the gaze you could see the mischief growing there. Neither of you had noticed the way Ubbe's cheeks turned red or how he had abruptly left the bench. You ran a hand through Ivar's hair and he leaned into your touch, eyelids softly fluttering.

“Have you taken care of our toys?” You asked. He nodded eagerly.

 

 

You place the final piece of leather on the table, adjusting it so that it is even with the others. Once satisfied with the display, you sweep a hand over them and address Ivar.

”Which one?” He leans forward in the chair, a look of deep concentration on his face. Ivar takes his time choosing between the belts, picking them up and appraising them one at a time. You can't help but roll your eyes at him; he does this every time and he always ends up picking the same one. After another minute or so of thinking he takes the same black one as always and holds it out to you.

“This one.” You raise an eyebrow at him.

“Aren't you forgetting something, pet?” He quickly bows his head down but not quick enough for you to miss the light smirk on his lips.

“Will you please correct me with this belt, härskarinna?” You wait with answering, letting him sweat for a while. Ivar even lifts his head and gives the most pleading look he can come up with. Such a precious little thing. A nod and a flick of the wrist is all it takes; the second you give the signal Ivar sighs with relief and lowers himself onto the floor. While he heaves himself up on the bed you reach for the flagon of wine and pour a glass. Ivar sits quietly with his back against the headboard as he waits for further instruction. Your voice is neutral, maybe slightly stern, as the next command leaves your mouth.

“Go on.” He slides the vest down from his shoulders and you shift in the chair; torn between wanting to go slow and wanting to jump on the bed and tear the clothes away from him. His hands go the front of his shirt, tugging at the strings to expose more skin. Your own trousers quickly come undone and your teeth sink into your bottom lip while waiting for him to reveal himself entirely. He lifts the shirt over his head; each flex of his muscles increases the temptation and you fight to suppress a moan, knowing that it would distract him. One hand is busy clutching at the cup of wine, but two fingers on your free hand disappear inside your trousers, find your clit and begin to lazily draw circles around it. A content sigh escapes into the air which is heavy with anticipation. When you first met Ivar about six months ago you had been ashamed of how quickly the youngest prince had gotten under your skin; now you would freely admit the hold he has over you to anyone who asks. It even seemed shocking that not more people saw the pull he had. The blue eyes, the perfect jawline and the broad shoulders that you'd rest your head on when tired. The man looked more like a god than a mere mortal; a god that you had reined in. Ivar reaches for his leg binders and your hips begin to buck as if they have a will on their own, grinding against your hand; you know what's coming after this. As you already knew, his next action nearly has you coming undone. He lifts his hips up from the bed and pushes his pants down. His throbbing cock looks inviting, begging to be touched. This time you can't stop the moan and when Ivar hears it he looks up, noticing the way you're squirming.

“Härskarinna?” He asks softly after having studied you for a few seconds. You shoot him an annoyed glare; how dare he interrupt at such a delicate time?

“What, pet?” You snarl while struggling to keep your eyes open. Ivar latches on to his erection and begins to drag a hand up and down the length of it.

“I am so hard for you. It hurts. Please, help me.” He whimpers. His words make you hiss and you can feel your toes begin to curl. A few more strokes is all it takes and you reach your end, growling his name as your body forms an arch. Once the storm has settled a little, you free yourself of your clothes and make your way to the bed on shaking legs. Ivar begins to say something about the belt still being at the table but he doesn't get far; your palm collides with his cheek and he yelps in pain. One hand comes to rest against his throat and you press down lightly. He whines in a raspy voice and tries to stay still.

“ _Never_ touch yourself without my permission.” The blue in his eyes is consumed by darkness. You release the grip on his throat again and stand next to the bed.

“On your stomach.” While he repositions you return to the table and pick up the belt. Running it between your palms, you can tell that Ivar was sincere when he said he'd taken care of the toys; all of the belts are smooth and shining. A few more turns between your hands and the leather begins to warm up. Ivar is on his stomach, as instructed, and you lick your lips at the sight of his naked ass while imagining what it will look like in only a few short moments.

“Are you ready for your first punishment?” Ivar glances at you over his shoulder, confusion clear on his face.

“You misbehaved twice, pet. Don't tell me you've forgotten.” You say sternly. Ivar hurries to reassure you.

“Nej, härskarinna. Jag minns.”

“And do you remember how many blows possessiveness is punished with?”

“Seven.” His voice trembles and for those who don't know this side of him it would probably seem like he was terrified; but you know that this is what he sounds like when straining not to spill prematurely. You stand next to the bed, level with his head, and lean down to kiss his cheek.

“Count for me, pet.” He squeezes his eyes shut and nods rapidly. You move slowly to the foot of the bed. Tightening your grip on the belt, you bring it to your lips and press a kiss to it. When the first blow lands a loud crack resounds through the room and Ivar grasps at the covers.

“Ett.” _Crack._

“Två.” The words come out more and more strained with each blow. At the fifth strike, Ivar can't contain himself any longer and his entire body spasms violently. Still, there are two more blows to deal out and you carry on as he lies there panting. His ass has turned a precious shade of red and you quickly put the belt aside in favour of crawling onto the bed and kissing every last inch of it.

Once you've satiated yourself you order him to turn again. Ivar breathes heavily as he turns on his back and his forehead is glistening with sweat. You click your tongue in disapproval when you see that his lower stomach is covered in cum.

“What is this? You're all covered in filth; I will have to clean you up.” You remove the green scarf from around your neck and he stretches his arms above his head for you to tie them together. He had given the scarf to you the same day that you first controlled him. Actually, only hours before. Some faraway princess had shared a meal with the royal family and Ivar didn't even bother with trying to hide how attractive he found her. You had stormed off to your cabin, blood boiling, and spent the better part of the day throwing your axe and your knives against trees. In the evening he came to talk to you, asked you to sit down on the ground with him. He had offered you the scarf as an apology but skipped over the part of actually saying sorry. You had stared at him; not believing how stupid he was. Ivar had watched in stunned silence as you threw the scarf on the ground and walked inside your cabin. A few minutes later he had come crawling inside, demanding that you accept his gift and apology. So you took it from him; first you used it to cover his greedy eyes and later on his stupid, delicious mouth. Though most nights it served as another tool for restraining him. Now you make sure that his possessive hands won't get in the way while you wipe his seed away. At first you actually do focus on cleaning him up but as you progress your movements grow more bold; cupping his balls and rubbing the tip of his cock with the wet rag. Ivar whimpers under the intimate touches and before long he is growing hard again. You pretend not to notice his desperate noises, humming as you carry on. Once he is clean you move further up his body, carefully sitting down with one leg on each side of his lower stomach.

“Ice or knife?” You ask while brushing strands away from his moist face.

“Ice.” He answers. You nod and climb down from the bed again. There's a window on the short-side of the room and you hurry to open it, allowing a cold gust of wind to come inside. There; just what you were looking for. You reach out and grab the icicle, moving quickly so as to not let too much of the winter inside. Ivar has turned his head to the side and he greets you with a faint smile as you return to him. You lie down next to him, the melting chunk of ice in your left hand while the right one pets his hair. Then you find your target and begin to lower your left hand. Ivar gasps loudly as the ice touches against his nipple. A few circling movements and then you go to the next nipple, leaving them both hardened beads. The icicle is melting quickly so you decide to move along, leaving a trail of water drops on his naked skin as you move it further down his body. Your mouth forms into a wide grin and you begin to slowly drag the ice along his length; making Ivar screech and arch of the bed. You hush him, press a kiss to his neck and continue until you've reached his tip, then throw the remainder of the ice on the floor and hurry to cup his balls with your still cold hand.

“Pl-please.” Ivar stutters.

“Please what, pet?” You ask, squeezing the delicate structures between his legs. He groans and writhes on the furs, needing a moment to collect himself before he can speak again.

“Please, härskarinna, ride me.” Your hand instantly releases its grip and you crawl on top of him before he has time to say anything else. From this position you can see his face properly; tousled hair, darkened eyes, full lips slightly parted as he tries to calm his breathing. Out of all the pets you've taken, he is definitely your favourite. You line up and sink down on his cock in one swift motion; not willing to wait any longer. He cries out and throws his head back as he feels your walls around him. You roll your hips over him, almost furiously at first but then slower as you decide to remove the restraint. He sobs as you lean down over him to untie the knots.

“It is all right, Ivar. You can touch them.” The last word has barely left your mouth when Ivar quiets down and captures one of your nipples in his mouth, beginning to roll it between his lips. The way you press against him and the pleased noises leaving your mouth eggs him on; he darts his tongue out to tease at the small bud. Once you've untied him you tug at his hair to make him let go.

“Ivar.” You say but he ignores you, continuing to work at your nipple. It was a mistake to let him do this; he is far too good at it and you can feel your resolve begin to crack. _Just a little longer_ , you tell yourself. The hand that you've buried in his hair slowly loosens its grip and he manages to pull a long string of moans from you. His free hands are at your waist now, pushing you further down to meet his slow, deep thrusts. And then you're on your back; Ivar gone from both your nipple and from the space between your legs. He positions himself over you and slides back inside. _I shouldn't let him_ , you think again through the haze but the feeling of him stretching you makes you comply. So instead of correcting him you lock your legs around his waist, bringing him in deeper as he moves more and more savagely. His hand comes creeping over your shoulder and soon it lands on your throat. Your eyes widen in surprise at the silent question in his eyes. You nod. He presses down then, not very hard but enough for you to struggle. His movements seem to grow deeper by the second; it can't be long now for either of you. When he releases again you inhale sharply and your eyelids flutter in relief. He gives you a moments respite before repeating it and this time you're certain that you won't last. His rough hand presses down even harder, completely cutting the air off, and you cling to his waist desperately, trying your hardest to meet each of his thrusts with all the strength you can muster up. Then he let's go and that first breath is all you need. You arch into him and cry out his name but the sound of it is drowned by his own shouting as he too finds his release. He rolls to the side, bringing you with him. Once you've settled against his chest he tugs at the furs to cover you both; something that you're thankful for because right now you don't have the presence of mind to do it yourself. Ivar brushes your hair out of the way and pulls you close. He nips at your earlobe a few times before releasing it and dropping his voice to a whisper.

“I look forward to whatever punishment you come up with for this.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Härskarinna - Mistress  
> Nej, härskarinna. Jag minns - No, mistress. I remember.  
> Ett - One  
> Två - Two


End file.
